In the clear, high sun of the Teide National Park, the vast Caldera de las Cañadas lies like an ancient, open book made of stone. Between crumbling lava fields and jagged rocks, the Montaña Guajara appears - silent yet mighty - its summit shrouded in the delicate veil of trade wind clouds that gently brush over its flanks, as if to calm the mountain or preserve its stories.
At its feet are the gorse trees, long faded but still shining like a collected echo of the past spring. Their light-coloured, dry branches shimmer in the sunlight as if they were holding the light itself, a last spark of the season before the landscape falls back into its summery silence.
The ground is rough, brittle, full of the scars of a fiery origin. And yet there is a quiet beauty about it all - a balance of hardness and fragility, of vastness and fine detail. The air is clear, almost transparent, and carries the deep breath of the mountains across the land.
Here, at this quiet altitude, time seems to slow down for a moment. The clouds move on leisurely, the wind blows through the gorse bushes and the light paints a golden band across the crater walls - a silent greeting from the world of volcanoes.
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